


If This is Settling Down

by fictionalaspect



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, The Like
Genre: Angst and Humor, BFFs, F/F, M/M, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 1.5-2 Hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-23
Updated: 2010-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer's not taking the split very well, for certain values of "very well" that means "pretending Ryan Ross doesn't even exist."</p>
            </blockquote>





	If This is Settling Down

**Author's Note:**

> There is a podfic of this story by the lovely [quintenttsy]() located [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/602546)! :D

"--All I'm saying is--shit," Brendon says. He's standing in the doorway of Spencer's bedroom, and he's waving his beer around a little. There's a speck of beer-foam clinging to the door frame and Spencer kind of can't stop zoning out at it. I mean whatever, yeah, he's a little stoned, but.

"Shit," Brendon says. "What was I saying, again? Oh. Oh yeah. Spence--are you ever going to fucking talk to him? Because I talked to him."

"What?" Spencer says, carefully moving his eyes away from the fascinating beer-speck thingy.

"Ryan," Brendon says. He sucks the corner of his lip into his mouth. "I talked to him. I mean, not really, we didn't actually talk about anything important. But."

"Ryan who?" Spencer says. He rolls his shoulders out, and then turns back to his laptop.

-

Spencer's phone rings at four-thirty-four am on a Friday morning. So technically, it's still Thursday night for people who have no concept of time or courtesy. Spencer might be a little cranky.

"Jon said I should call you," Ryan says.

"Fuck you," Spencer says, politely, and hangs up on him.

-

When anyone asks about Ryan Ross--who isn't a reporter--Spencer carefully and patiently explains in great detail why Ryan is a huge asshole.

It's not that easy, but Spencer likes to think it is. Ryan is exactly who he's always been, and that doesn't make this his fault. They all fucked up, over and over, until the cracks widened into chasms. But it's easier to smooth out the complications into a storyline, to connect A to B to C and not worry about who's responsible. It's easier to ignore the late-night phone calls and tell everyone who asks that no, yeah, Ryan totally hasn't called him. Nope. What a jerk, right?

-

Two-thirty-six am.

"So I lied," Ryan says. His voice is a little scratchy, like he's hoarse from singing.

"Huh?" Spencer says. He'd been lying in bed watching golf, which is the kind of thing that Brendon never stops making fun of him for, but it's really relaxing, okay?

"Jon didn't tell me to call you," Ryan says. "I just. I didn't want you to hang up on me."

"That was a dumb move," Spencer says. "I'm mad at Jon, too."

Ryan's quiet for a minute or two. Spencer doesn't know why he hasn't hung up yet. Maybe it's the golf. It really does get him nice and zen about life.

"I'm definitely still mad at you," Ryan says eventually. He sounds both interested and confused by this revelation, like he'd really been thinking carefully about it before he said it out loud.

"Good," Spencer says. "Awesome. Can I hang up on you now? This is the 18th hole." Spencer hears a click, and then the dial tone. He starts laughing before he can help himself. It's really not that funny, except for how it kind of is.

-

Ryan and Jon have already written their album. They're in the studio right now, mixing and recording endless series of takes after take, each one slightly different. Spencer already knows what it's going to sound like, because he heard every single one of them on their tour bus.

Brendon and Spencer are not writing their album. They are thinking about writing their album, which is a long and complex process when your band breaks up and your best friend leaves you and then you have to go on a summer tour two months later and your lead singer is having a minor personality crisis about his ability to write songs, which is entirely the fault of your ex-best friend. There are not a lot of things that are actually 100% Ryan's fault, but that one might be. Ryan has a tendency to be careless about where his words fall.

So the email is weird and unexpected, and the worst part is that Spencer opens it at like eight am in the morning and then he drops his spoon in his cheerios and gets milk all over his screen.

"Fuck," Spencer says, and then he actually looks at the text of the email.

there was a hope when we found the bridge  
to a place we'd never been  
defiance  
and ever since i was a kid they said just stay away from there  
boy don't you ever live in defiance.

"Hah," Spencer says, a single whoosh of air punctuated by the movement of his throat. He doesn't know whether he wants to laugh or cry or drive down to LA and strangle Ryan while he's eating _his_ morning cheerios.

 _it sucks,_ Spencer types back. _I hate it._

The reply comes six minutes later. _Tell me what you really think,_ it says, and Spencer can hear the words in Ryan's voice, exactly, the intonation and the dry wit and the hint of a smile.

Spencer sighs, long and loud. He considers just drowning himself in his bowl of Cheerios, because it would probably be easier than continuing to exist in a world full of Ryan Ross-related complications.

"I hate you," Spencer tells his computer screen, as he types out _fine. it's good, you know it is._ Spencer doesn't think about how those memories belong to both of them. "Hate, hate - fuck, dammit, Ryan."

"Oh, hey," Brendon says, shuffling tiredly into the kitchen. "It is morning like, air-your-grievances time?"

"No," Spencer says. He presses send.

"Because you left those dishes all crusty last week," Brendon says. "And Shane still hasn't sent me those photos from that thing and I've asked him like sixteen times."

"What?" Spencer says, looking up.

"You know," Brendon says. He's trying to look mysterious, only he's not awake yet, so he's basically just making a stupid face that aspires to be mysterious. "The _secret_ thing. The project. That we don't talk about."

"Brendon," Spencer says, after a moment. "It's...just us here. And we both know about it."

"I'm practicing," Brendon says.

"Right," Spencer says. "Right."

-

Spencer spent the first twenty-four hours after the band broke up getting drunk.

He's not proud of it, but there it is.

"You were always a little in love with him," Brendon had said, out of absolutely fucking nowhere. They were sitting on the beach, sand in their hair and bare feet scrunched into the sand. Spencer had a blanket, and it was his solace against the world. He was also on his ninth beer in the past twelve hours. He pulled the blanket in more firmly, and pretended not to hear Brendon.

"I get it," Brendon said. "You know. It's like -- your best friend, you're always a little in love with them, even when you think you aren't."

"Brendon," Spencer mumbled. "Shut up, please."

"He was a little in love with you, too," Brendon said.

"Seriously, I'm going to hit you," Spencer said.

"Okay," Brendon said.

Spencer tipped his head back against the rock that was currently holding him up. There was a sheer haze over the beach, a clear film that blunted the sunrise into muted pastels. It would burn off within the hour. Spencer realized he should probably stop drinking soon, so that one of them would be sober enough to drive.

"The whole world is a little in love with Ryan Ross," Spencer said. "And he's in love with the world. It's just how it goes." He felt, as the words were leaving his mouth, that his statement was both entirely uncharacteristic of him, and yet completely true.

"Wow," Brendon said, after a moment. "That was some deep shit, Spence." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Shut up," Spencer said again, for the hundredth time that morning.

-

One fifty-one am.

"Hey," Ryan says. Spencer has the phone pressed between his ear and the pillow, because he was sleeping and it seemed like the easiest thing to do at the time.

"Hey," Spencer mumbles. He yawns, long and loud, and he can hear Ryan snickering into the phone. Spencer wants to be angry but he's not awake enough yet. "You enjoyed that, didn't you," Spencer says, instead.

"Enjoyed what?" Ryan says. "The yawn?"

"Hanging up on me," Spencer mumbles. "It was very dramatic."

"It was good for me too, baby," Ryan says, totally deadpan. Spencer snorts into the phone.

There's silence for a moment, and then a rustle, like Ryan's moving around underneath sheets.

"Why do you keep calling me," Spencer asks, when he can't stand it anymore. He's not editing himself, or else he probably wouldn't have just thrown it out there.

"I don't know," Ryan says. He's speaking softly, directly into the phone, like he's trying to be quiet. It feels intimate. His voice sounds warmer and richer than Spencer remembers and it makes a brief sense-memory flare, one that Spencer immediately shoves down as far into his psyche as he possibly can.

"I should have expected that, huh," Spencer says, just for something to say. He wants Ryan to keep talking and he wants to punch Ryan in the face and the two feelings, he's starting to discover, are strangely complimentary. It's weird.

"Probably," Ryan says. Another pause. "Tell me how Brendon is."

"You talked to him," Spencer says. "He said you did. You already know."

"It's Brendon," Ryan says. "He lies a lot." Spencer clenches his jaw and prepares to strike back for Brendon's honor when Ryan sighs into the phone. "Not like that," Ryan says, still quiet and slightly sad. "I didn't mean. I just meant. He doesn't always tell the truth. He told me what I wanted to hear. What he wanted _me_ to hear."

"Yeah," Spencer says, because it's nothing if not an accurate assessment of the situation. "He's okay, Ryan. He's doing okay."

"Okay," Ryan says. And then there's that shifting sound again, sheets sliding over skin, and Spencer hears Ryan mumble something to someone else and Spencer is suddenly, blindingly angry. He thinks about Ryan in bed with someone else, whispering to Spencer so they won't hear.

"What the fuck," Spencer says, the words bitten out into sharp sounds. "Ryan, are you seriously fucking--you're calling me when you have someone there?"

The rational part of his mind knows that it could be--it's probably innocent. Ryan's new friends seem to pile up like puppies. One of them probably fell asleep in Ryan's bed, and it's innocent, and Spencer really shouldn't be this furious. After all, he lives with Brendon Urie, the human limpet.

"No, it's--" Ryan says, and Spencer hangs up on him anyway.

-

"So hey," Brendon says, as they're sitting down to a delicious and healthful dinner of egg rolls and shrimp lo mein and crab rangoon and General Tso's. "You're a liar."

"I asked you about the lo mein," Spencer says. "I yelled up the stairs, all like, Bden, do you want shrimp or chicken, and I swear to god you said shrimp, dude."

"I did actually say shrimp," Brendon says. "That's not what I was talking about." Spencer pauses, chopsticks poised over a piece of deep-fried chicken. Brendon doesn't seem upset, or annoyed, or any sort of emotion that would normally be associated with Spencer's theoretical betrayal.

"What did I lie about?" Spencer says, when he can't stand it anymore. Brendon taps his fingers on the side of his glass.

"I got an email from Jon," Brendon says.

"Okay," Spencer says. He makes little 'go on' motions with his chopsticks. "And?"

"Dude, calm down, you're ruining my dramatic reveal," Brendon says. "He --oh, fine. Screw it. He wanted to know what was up, because he said he fell asleep on Ryan's bed the other night and he woke up to Ryan talking to someone on the phone in the middle of the night and he was pretty sure it was you and he wanted to know if I knew what the hell was going on."

"He's lying," Spencer says automatically. "Did you email him back?"

"No," Brendon says. "But he says he woke up because he heard Ryan do his Spencer-laugh."

"His what?" Spencer frowns. "What?"

"He only laughs like that when he's talking to you," Brendon says, ripping his egg roll into two equal pieces. "He's got this weird little chuckle he does. I can't describe it."

"Ryan does not have a Spencer-laugh," Spencer says. "Ryan and I don't have anything. It's not. Jon's just fucking with you." Spencer shovels chicken into his mouth and tries not to think about Ryan's voice on the phone, the rustling of sheets through the speaker, the slight catch in Ryan's breath when he had laughed. Spencer had never thought of that laugh as something just for him.

"Hmm," Brendon says.

"What?" Spencer says. He tries for fierce, and it comes out as mildly plaintive. Brendon grins at him. He looks predatory.

"I don't believe you," Brendon says. "Like. Not even for a second, dude."

"And?" Spencer says. His stomach feels tight. It feels like he gave up a secret, even though he didn't, and it's a straight shot from there back to anger again. Familiar anger, the kind Spencer's gotten used to over the past few months. The kind that sits down in his bones, a thin veneer that protects everything else from the light of day.

"If you guys are actually talking--" Brendon says.

"I never said that," Spencer says.

"You wouldn't be all weird like this if you weren't," Brendon says. "Anyway. If you're talking, then. There's something."

"Something?" Spencer says. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You're so dense," Brendon says. "There was always something between you guys. I don't know what it is, but it's there."

"Yeah, it's called codependence," Spencer says. "And it's bad for you. I read a book about it."

"If that's what you want to call it," Brendon says. "Sure, okay."

-

Ryan doesn't call. Spencer waits and tries to pretend he's not waiting. He picks up books and then puts them down. He turns his tv on and off. He does the dishes and wipes down the kitchen and when he can't stand it anymore, when Brendon is leaning over the back of the couch and giving him a weird look, Spencer says, "I'm going out."

"Where?" Brendon says.

"The beach," Spencer says. "I'll be back later." Brendon shrugs, and turns back to the the widescreen in their living room.

Spencer's car is nice, far nicer than he really should own. He's twenty-three, and his car has all-leather interior and makes a purring noise when he turns it on. It rumbles underneath him. The leather is stupid for this climate, it makes his legs stick to the seats and it's already been ruined by salt-spray but Spencer hadn't been able to resist.

Spencer rolls the windows down and drives. He drives past the beach by accident, too fast to make the turn, so he just keeps driving. He makes a left, and then a right, and then three more lefts, and then the entrance ramp is looming so Spencer gets on the highway. The clutch makes a satisfying noise when he presses it down to shift gears. His car races into the turn, and then he's out on the open road.

Spencer doesn't realize he's in LA until he sees the lights start to cluster. The road gets brighter and bright, light pollution spilling into his front window, and Spencer swears and closes his eyes. Just for a second--a brief second, a second of frustration and hopelessness and something else, a bright spark in the night--and then things happen very fast.

And very loudly.

-

 

"He emailed me back again," Ryan says, sucking on the bottom corner of his lip, where his lip ring would be if he'd had the balls to go through with it. If he'd thought he could have gotten away with it. Spencer had told him to do it, said he'd go with him, but at the last moment Ryan had decided to wait, because there was a sudden and definite chance they would soon be rockstars and then they could do whatever they wanted.

"Oh yeah?" Spencer says. "What did he say?" Spencer's trying to play it cool, for reasons he can't explain. They're both trying to play it cool. Spencer is about to jump out of his skin.

"Next week," Ryan says. "He says he's got the contracts together and he's going to run them by his lawyer guys, and then he'll overnight them to us and we can look at them and fax them back."

"Cool," Spencer says. Ryan looks back at him.

Spencer loses it.

"Oh my fucking god, Ryan, fucking SHIT," Spencer says, and Ryan laughs and tackles him onto the bed, shoving one shoulder into Spencer's solar plexus. It makes the air whoosh out of Spencer's lungs. "We're going to be fucking rockstars," Ryan says, and his eyes are so bright and so happy. "I told you, I fucking told you, we're so awesome, I knew--"

"You did," Spencer agrees. "You did, and I'm a dumbass for not believing you--"

"You fucking are," Ryan says, and punches him in the shoulder. There's no force behind it. Ryan isn't a great puncher, but he tries. He's practically straddling Spencer, one leg thrown over Spencer's stomach, one arm holding himself up near Spencer's head. Spencer brings his hand up to hold Ryan steady, so he won't lose his balance, but it's too late. Ryan's elbow slips, and he falls onto his side. Spencer snickers, and rolls to follow him.

"Tell me what you're going to buy first," Ryan says. "I know we're not getting that much until we tour, and we might not ever, but like, it's got to be more than our fucking allowances, right? Tell me what you're going to buy."

"A spaceship," Spencer says solemnly, and Ryan hoots with giddy laughter. The air in the room feels light.

"No, for real," Ryan says. "Tell me."

"You tell me," Spencer says. "You first."

"A car," Ryan says, and jerks his thumb towards Spencer's garage, where his shitty Honda is parked. "Something awesome. Leather seats. Big dials and shit. Super retro."

"Big dials and shit?" Spencer says, grinning. "You are so not allowed to go car-shopping on your own."

"You'll come with me," Ryan says, shrugging like it's already a foregone conclusion. "And you'll have one of those stupid car manuals and you'll yell at me if I pick the wrong one."

"Maybe I won't," Spencer says. "Maybe I'll just go and stare at them with you and we'll pick the fastest, most ridiculous one and then we'll drive it down the strip."

"Okay," Ryan says. His face is really close to Spencer's. Spencer can feel the heat from his body radiating outwards, like a Ryan-shaped force-field. Spencer can see the remains of last-nights eyeliner smudged around Ryan's eyes, a faint echo of black. Ryan is beautiful like this, giddy and overwhelmed.

"You never told me what you were going to buy," Ryan says, eventually. His voice is quieter now, whispering between them. There's no need to whisper. They're home alone. There's no need for them to be scrunched up together on Spencer's bed, sharing six molecules of air while the whole house stretches around them.

"Shoes," Spencer says, and Ryan flails out a hand and hits him. "No way," Ryan says. "You're lying."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Not shoes. I was kidding."

"I know you were kidding, dumbass," Ryan says. "Tell me."

 _You,_ Spencer thinks suddenly, out of nowhere. _If I had all the money in the world I'd buy you, like this, forever. I'd buy you laughter._ The moment stretches on. Ryan is close, so close, and they could just reach out and--something. Spencer doesn't know.

"I don't know," Spencer says, and the moment is broken.

-

Spencer wakes up in the ER. There's a lot of tubes and things. He's not really sure where his feet have gone. Ryan Ross is staring down at him. He's wearing his sunglasses indoors.

"The fuck?" Spencer says.

"You missed the brake," Ryan says. He scrunches one hand through his hair. He's wearing a suit, and he looks entirely out of place in the ER. He's got his iPhone clutched in one hand. "You hit the gas instead."

"Shit," Spencer says. He rolls his head against the scratchy hospital pillow. "Wait. Why are you even here?"

Ryan's phone rings.

"Yeah," Ryan says into the phone, ignoring Spencer's question. "He's alive. He's fine, Brendon. He's already insulting me."

"I haven't insulted you," Spencer says. "Yet."

"You were going to," Ryan says to him. He turns back into the phone. "No, he's--no, I'm talking to Spencer. You want to--okay." Ryan hands the phone to Spencer. Spencer winces, because it hurts to raise his arm. It doesn't feel like anything is seriously wrong, except when he moves. Then everything hurts.

"Spencer, what the fuck were you thinking," Brendon says, angrily. He sounds scared. "You fucking--I thought you were going to the _beach_. I would have come with you, if I had known you were just going to take off, like some fucking--"

"Sorry," Spencer mumbles into the phone. He doesn't know how to explain that he hadn't meant to drive to LA. He hadn't meant to do any of this, and now he's in a hospital bed and Ryan is staring at him like Spencer killed his firstborn.

"You are such an idiot," Brendon says. "I'm coming to get you. Your car's a mess. They had to tow it."

"Oh," Spencer says. It hadn't even occurred to him to worry about his car yet. "No, you don't have to, it's fine. I'll just take a cab, or something."

"Give me the phone," Ryan says. Brendon's still railing away at him, and Spencer hands it over, feeling guilty.

"I'll take him home," Ryan says, in the face of Brendon's protests. "Brendon--it's four am. Don't drive down here. He can stay at my place."

There's a sudden silence on the other end of the phone. Ryan raises an eyebrow at it.

"Really?" Brendon says, and he sounds disbelieving even through the tinny speaker of Ryan's phone. "You're really going to do that. Don't you have a party to go to? Someplace more important?"

"Not anymore," Ryan says, and hangs up. He gives Spencer a long, level look.

"So I know you hate me," Ryan says, and Spencer snorts. "But suck it up for a bit," Ryan continues. "Because you're being a dumb asshole about this whole thing."

"I am not--" Spencer says. He stops for a minute, because breathing hurts. "Fuck you," Spencer says. "I am not the asshole, here. I am a person who did something stupid on the highway and fucked up and now my ex-best friend is fucking _kidnapping_ me, out of the _hospital_ \--"

"Yeah," Ryan says patiently. "I am."

"--when I didn't even _ask_ for it, and just so you know, I wasn't driving to fucking go see you, I don't even like you, and your sunglasses are stupid and you broke up our fucking band because you can't control your ego and--"

"Hey," Ryan says, frowning. "That's low."

"--I don't want to go to your new house with your new stupid trust-fund friends and listen to all of you talk about how art is your life and you're changing the world with your stupid music because you're _not_ and--"

"Are you crying?" Ryan says.

"No," Spencer says. "Fuck you."

"You're crying," Ryan says. He sits down, heavily, on one of the stupid plastic chairs.

"Fuck you, I've-- had a long day," Spencer says. He swallows. Fuck, he really is crying. Spencer can't remember that last time he cried, and now it's in front of _Ryan_. Spencer hates everything.

Ryan scrubs one hand through his hair. He takes off his sunglasses, and then Spencer can see his eyes. He looks tired.

"Spencer," Ryan says. He makes an abortive moment towards the bed, like he's reaching out for Spencer's hand.

"If you touch me right now," Spencer says weakly. "I'm going to punch you."

"No you won't," Ryan says. He reaches out again, and this time his hand lands on Spencer's arm. He squeezes, and it hurts, but Spencer can't bring himself to move his arm. Ryan's hands are warm and dry.

"Spencer, just come back to my place," Ryan says. "You can hate me later. I promise."

"Okay," Spencer says, chastened.

-

Ryan insists in wheeling him out in wheelchair. It's a recipe for disaster, but Spencer's too tired and sore to really put up a fuss. It goes about as well as Spencer expects, which is to say that Ryan hits two gurneys on the way out but at least they're both empty.

"You're trying to kill me," Spencer grumbles, after the third near-miss.

"I think you've got that one covered," Ryan says.

-

A small part of Spencer wants to apologize. Somewhere, deep down, he knows he's been acting unforgivably. Spencer hurts, all over, inside and out, and something inside him wants Ryan to hurt just as much as he does. He doesn't want to see Ryan like this, tired but healthy, looking better than he has in a long time. He doesn't want to know that Ryan made the right decision by leaving.

The sun is coming up over the horizon by the time they make it to Ryan's house. Spencer has a paper bag full of heavy sedatives, several prescriptions, and extra gauze and tape for his cuts and scratches. They're not too bad, but he did have a nice little chunk of glass lodged in his side. There are six stitches underneath the bandage, and Spencer can already see the bruise starting to form. He lifts his shirt slightly, and pokes at it.

"Don't" Ryan says, and slaps his hand away. "You'll get all infected."

"Okay, Mom," Spencer says.

"You'll get all oozy and shit," Ryan says. "No one wants that. Gangrene isn't sexy."

"Your face isn't sexy," Spencer says, because the drugs are starting to kick in.

"Says you," Ryan says. "No--put your legs out. Like that." He's got an arm around Spencer's midsection, and he's tugging ineffectually at Spencer. _This is never going to work_ , Spencer thinks, and then another wave of dizziness hits him, and his body slumps back into the seat. Ryan tugs, and Spencer stops fighting, and all of a sudden he's standing up.

"Whoa," Spencer says. "Standing."

"Congratulations," Ryan says. "You're vertical. I'm so proud."

"Me too," Spencer says. He takes a careful step forward, and then his legs don't really want to work. His shoes skid on Ryan's gravel driveway. Ryan's still holding him up.

"Spencer," Ryan says, suddenly. "Count for me, okay?"

"One," Spencer says amiably, because okay, yes, he really is _very_ high right now. He has no idea what they put in this stuff, but it's awesome. Everything only aches a little bit. Ryan takes a step.

"Two," Ryan says, prompting him and Spencer takes another step.

"Two," Spencer says.

"Good," Ryan says. Spencer takes another step.

"Five," Spencer says.

"No," Ryan says. "But points for style." Spencer grins. Ryan's feet keep moving, and so do Spencer's.

-

There are two girls asleep in Ryan's living room, when they finally make it there. The lights are down low, and there's a half-played game of Scrabble sitting on the table. The letters are scattered over the board like rain. Spencer hazily notes that someone made a triple-word score out of 'ejaculate.'

The one with the longer hair stirs, but doesn't wake. The smaller blond one yawns, and then sits up suddenly when she sees them. Her eye makeup is smudged and heavy. In the low light, she looks a little like Ryan used to.

"Oh shit, you found him," The girl mumbles, and rushes over to Spencer's side. Spencer wants to tell her that it's okay, he can manage, he doesn't like her stupid hair and her stupid dress and her triple-word scores but she's under his other arm in an instant.

"What's the damage?" She whispers to Ryan, as though Spencer isn't in the middle of them.

"Scrapes, bruises, and my sense of self-worth," Ryan drawls. "No, Z, the other way, he's going in my bedroom."

"Whoops," Z says, and turns them suddenly. Spencer almost trips, and for a split second he's absolutely sure he's going to fall, but Z is surprisingly strong.

"Calm down, Rambo," Z says to him, grinning. "Rome wasn't built in a day. And definitely not on Percoset."

"What?" Spencer says, because he can't even really parse that sentence. "You're in my brain," he says, instead, because he's never heard of a girl named Z and she could very well be a hallucination..

"Mmmm," Z says. "Nope."

"He's really high," Ryan says. "They gave him the extra-strong stuff."

"I noticed," Z says. "Annnd here we are." She gives a tiny shove, and Spencer falls onto the bed gracelessly.

"Oh hey," Spencer mumbles. "A bed. Awesome."

"Man, you really did a number on yourself," Z says. Spencer can hear Ryan moving around, feel the sheets being pulled up over him, but he's too tired to move. Z brushes Spencer's hair away from his face. "Get some sleep," Z says. "Tenn'll make you some tea in the morning."

"I don't like tea," Spencer mumbles. "Tastes like crap."

"You'll like it," Z says. "Go to sleep, Rambo."

-

Spencer sleeps for a long time. He's aware of the light changing, of a breeze blowing on his face, and the sound of someone singing. He hears laughter from somewhere else in the house. It sounds very far away.

-

His phone rings.

"'lo?" Spencer mumbles.

"Thank fucking god," Brendon says. "I was pretty sure you were dead. I'll be there in a few hours, okay?"

"What--Brendon," Spencer says. He blinks several times, as he wakes up fully. Wow, everything hurts. Everything hurts a _lot_. "I talked to you last night. I think? I'm at Ryan's. I'm fine."

"He could have killed you in your sleep," Brendon says. "Pushed you out a window. Spiked the water."

"Are you high?" Spencer says, frowning into the phone. "Seriously, what the fuck are you talking about? Ryan isn't going to try to kill me. I'm in his bed."

"If you pulled the kind of shit on me, that you've pulled on Ryan," Brendon says, very seriously. "I probably would have pushed you out a window. No jury could convict."

"Oh, shut up," Spencer says. Brendon snickers on the other end of the phone, his composure lost now that the joke's been seen through. "I couldn't even figure out why he was there, you know. Until I realized you'd probably never taken him off your emergency contacts list," Brendon says.

"Yeah," Spencer sighs. "I'm an idiot."

"I know," Brendon says. "But seriously, you're okay?" It's half-question and half-statement.

"I feel like I've been mauled by wild dogs," Spencer says honestly. "But I'm fine. It's just bruises and scrapes. No major injuries. No head trauma."

"Would we be able to tell?"

"I can still probably kick your ass you know," Spencer says. "It might take me a while, but I'm sure I could shuffle up there and punch you."

"You do that," Brendon says. "I'll be there tonight. It would be earlier, but we've got Shane's secret thing, and--"

"--and he's already rented the equipment, I know," Spencer says. He's not offended. Shane and Brendon have exactly twelve hours of access to over ten thousand dollars worth of camera equipment, today only, no refunds. Spencer can suck it up and deal with Ryan if he has to. He mostly just feels bad he won't be able to help them out.

"Tell Ryan to text me his address," Brendon says. "I don't have it."

"Okay," Spencer says. He looks around the room. "I don't actually know where he is, but I'll tell him if I see him."

"Or you could call his phone," Brendon says.

"Or you could call his phone," Spencer says. "I'm an invalid. I can't be trusted with such weighty matters."

"Suck it," Brendon says. Spencer can hear his shrug through the phone line. "Okay, whatever. Somehow I'll get his address. Anything you want me to bring?"

"Clothing," Spencer says, immediately, because he's still wearing the same thing he was wearing while he was driving, minus his shirt, which seems to have been replaced with a striped tee that obviously belongs to Ryan. "And, uh. In-and-Out."

"You're really lucky I like you," Brendon says. Spencer nods. "I know," he says, entirely honestly. He _is_ lucky Brendon likes him. Spencer's aware he's been kind of a self-absorbed jerk for the past few months. It doesn't mean he's planning on stopping any time soon, but at least he's considering it.

"Shit--okay, I gotta go," Brendon says, and Spencer can hear voices in the background, Shane's laconic drawl. "Later dude. If Ryan swings, don't duck."

" _Don't_ duck--?" Spencer says, but Brendon's already hung up. He frowns down at his phone. He thinks Brendon just told him that if Ryan hits him, he'll deserve it, but he's not entirely sure.

Spencer sighs. He lays back against the pillows and thinks idle thoughts about how much pain he's in, and how far it is from his bed to wherever his painkillers are, and how Ryan's bed is actually very comfortable in spite of all of that. He wonders where Ryan is.

He hears the _thunk_ of someone walking into a doorframe.

"Ow," Ryan says. "Shit."

"I can't believe you ever survived past the womb," Spencer says.

"Says the guy with six stitches in his side," Ryan says. "I'll stop walking into doors when you learn to brake." He's carrying a tray that contains tea, apples, crackers, and cheese, all on tiny neon-green plates. Spencer stares at it in amazement.

"What have you done with Ryan Ross?" Spencer says. "Ryan. Tall guy, terrible fashion sense, once cut himself on a butter knife?"

"They're having a tea party downstairs," Ryan says. He puts the tray on the side table next to the bed. "That's all Z and Tenn. They sent me up here with that and told me to drop it off and drug you."

"How thoughtful," Spencer says.

"Don't be an asshole," Ryan says. "They're being nice. They _are_ nice."

"You know, lately," Spencer says thoughtfully. "My life seems to be composed of people telling me not to be an asshole. But no one ever asks _why_ I'm being an asshole."

"Oh, fucking--" Ryan says. He sits down on the bed. "Fine. You want to do this now? We can do this now."

"I'm just saying," Spencer says. "You're the one who left."

"Yeah, and you know who's over it?" Ryan says. " _Everyone else_."

"Touche," Spencer says, after a beat.

"Damn straight," Ryan says.

"Look," Spencer says. He sighs, and stares out the window so he won't have to see Ryan's expression. "I'm not sorry. You took the best thing in my fucking life and you tore it apart because you felt like it."

"You started ignoring me months before the band broke up," Ryan says angrily, the cracks finally starting to show. "You acted like what I said didn't fucking matter. Don't act like I came in and broke your toys."

"But I didn't think you would _leave_ ," Spencer bursts out.

"I didn't think you would _hate me_ ," Ryan says. "I didn't think you'd go out of your way to be such a huge _dick_."

"Because you _left_ ," Spencer says, and he's aware that what he's saying is repetitive, that it doesn't make any sense. "Because you cut it all apart, Ryan. I always thought we'd do more, all of us, we'd go on and figure our shit out and fight and get over it and you just _gave up_. On us," Spencer says, and then swallows heavily. There's a sudden surge of pain in his side. Spencer knows he's too tense, that he needs to fucking relax. "On me," Spencer says, and grits his teeth against the pain. His eyes sting with tears.

"You're such an idiot," Ryan says, frustrated, and then Spencer hears the rattle of a prescription bottle. "Every six hours, Spencer, didn't you read the directions?"

"I'm _fine_ ," Spencer says. "I don't need you to take care of me, Ryan. You suck at it anyway."

"Because you're doing such a great job on your own," Ryan says sharply. "You know what--fuck this." Ryan drops the bottle in Spencer's lap. "Do whatever you want. You want to sit up here all day and be angry? Then do it. But this isn't my fault." He slams the door shut as he leaves.

"Dammit," Spencer says softly, dropping his head so he can see the bottle on his lap. Ryan's loosened the childproof cap for him, and the small white pills are spilling out onto the coverlet. "Dammit."

-

Ryan's bedroom is on the top floor of his house, in it's own suite. There's a bathroom and a little sitting area, although Spencer would be a lot of money Ryan just uses it as a room to throw his dirty clothing in.

Spencer takes a half-dose of the pills. He lies in bed for a little while until they kick in and he's not feeling quite so murderous, and then he gets up and takes a shower. He feels like an invalid, shuffling along on Ryan's tile floor while holding on to the guard rail, but the last thing he needs is to bash his brains out in Ryan's shower. The hot water helps. By the time Spencer gets out, he still feels like crap, but at least he can move around. He puts his dirty clothing back on, steals a pair of socks from Ryan's drawer without guilt, and begins the long shuffle downstairs.

(It figures that Ryan would buy a tall house up on a hill, built like a winding tower, beautiful and completely impractical for someone as accident-prone as Ryan. Spencer wonders how many times he's fallen down the stairs so far.)

When he finally makes it downstairs, the house is empty, but the veranda doors are open to the breeze. Spencer carefully steps outside. There's a sunken garden on this side of the house, tucked in to the side of the mountain, with winding steps connecting each tiny terrace. There's a patio set on the lowest one, and that's where Ryan and Z and the other girl--Tennessee?--are sitting. Z's strumming an acoustic guitar. The chords echo off the man-made hills.

Spencer looks at all the steps, small and unnaturally smooth. He sighs, and then starts down. At least if he falls here, it will be epic.

"Oh lord," Spencer hears someone say, and he looks up to see the tall girl hurrying over. "Careful, careful. Those are slick. Here," she says, climbing the stairs effortlessly, three at a time. She's very tall.

"Take my hand, then, " the girl says, in a surprisingly un-American accent. Spencer looks at her. He thinks about all the things he could say, all the ways he could cut her down to size. All the ways Spencer could continue in this comfortable, self-satisfied vein of being a jerk to everyone he meets who is connected to Ryan Ross.

Tennessee smiles at him. "Go on," she says, "I don't bite. Least this way, if you fall, you'll land on me."

Spencer feels a smile tugging at his lips. He can just picture the two of them rolling down the hill together in a tangle of limbs and hair. Something tells him Tennessee would be laughing, afterwards. "Okay," Spencer says, a little hesitantly. He reaches out to take Tennessee's hand, and lets her steady him as he goes down. Half-way down, he looks up to see Ryan watching them. He's sitting very still, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"There we are," Tennessee says, when they've reached the bottom. "You've arrived. Congratulations."

"Thanks?" Spencer says.

"You're welcome," Tennessee says gravely. "Now sit." She deposits Spencer in a chair that, Spencer notes, has far more pillows than the rest of them.

"Hello again," Z says. She smiles at him.

"I can't do this," Ryan says suddenly. "I'll be back." He looks quietly furious. He pushes away from the table, and stomps up the stairs into his house.

"Damn," Spencer says. There goes his plan to apologize.

"He'll be back," Z says. "You know him. He'll stomp around for a while, and then he'll distract himself with something, and then he'll go to smoke and remember he's quit for his voice, and then he'll Twitter something that doesn't make any sense. And then he'll come back down."

"I--wow," Spencer says. He blinks. That does sound exactly like Ryan, except when Spencer knew him it was blogging and not twitter, and coffee instead of cigarettes.

"Creature of habit," Z agrees. "Did you like the tea? I told you it was awesome."

"Actually," Spencer says. "Yes." It feels strange to be making an effort. Spencer hasn't met entirely new people in a long time. He's either meeting fans, or friends-of-friends that he already knows. He gets the sense that Z and Tennessee know he used to be in a band with Ryan, and don't much care.

"It's not that hard," Tennessee says, with amusement. "All you have to do is buy good tea, and not that American crap."

"You're so cute when you try to talk Californian," Z says. She rests her head on the curve of her acoustic, and makes overly dramatic doe eyes at Tennessee.

"It's a work in progress," Tennessee says.

Spencer drinks more tea, when Tennessee hands him a cup. He sits and listens to their conversation, the idle chatter of two people who've known each other forever. It's surprisingly nice. Weirdly so. Spencer feels like this should be awkward, and it isn't.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Spencer says, when he can't stand it any longer. "I'm--don't get me wrong. This is really nice. But it's weird."

Z pauses for a minute, her hands still on the strings. She looks like she's actually thinking about it. "Ryan talks about you a lot," she says eventually. "I mean, yeah, he's usually pissed off when he does it, but. It's not hard to see that he cares about you."

"So shouldn't you be being rude to me?" Spencer says. "In like, solidarity or something?"

"Nah," Z says. "I don't have time for that shit." Tennessee grins across the table at her. "Look, I might think you're both being fucking stupid about this whole thing, but I get it. We're not--I'm still not speaking to Charlotte."

"Charlotte?" Spencer says.

"She left," Tennessee says. "Or we kicked her out, depending who you talk to. But she did leave."

"Oh," Spencer says.

"So, I mean, I get it," Z says. She sounds sad. "I'm not going to make it worse between you guys."

"Thanks," Spencer says, and he means it.

"No problemo," Z says. "Oh, hey." Her phone is vibrating on the tabletop, tucked in between a stack of books and a plate of Girl Scout cookies. She picks it up and tucks it between her shoulder and her ear.

"Yeah, hey," Z says. "We're around back. Gate's unlocked." She hangs up with her shoulder, a jerky motion, and looks up at Spencer. "This might get awkward," she says. "Sorry."

"Uh," Spencer says. His stomach sinks. It's too early for Brendon to be here, and he definitely wouldn't have called Z's cell. There's really only one person Spencer can think of who could make this whole thing worse, and he looks up to see Jon Walker making his way down the steps.

"Heya," he calls out easily, to the girls. Spencer can tell the exact moment he recognizes Spencer sitting there, because he stops abruptly on the steps.

"Hi," Spencer says, after a long, pregnant pause. "What's up?"

"Hey," Jon says carefully. He looks completely thrown. Spencer can relate.

"I got in a car accident," Spencer says, unwilling to waste time on the formalities. "I forgot to take Ryan off my emergency contacts list. Brendon's picking me up in a bit."

"Oh," Jon says. "Shit." He gives Spencer a hesitant look, up and down. "Are you--okay?"

"Yeah," Spencer says.

"That's good," Jon says.

"Yup," Spencer says. Jon looks different. He's shaved, and his hair is long. It doesn't look bad on him, exactly, but he looks like an entirely different person. Spencer thinks distantly about all the ways in which Jon Walker has pissed him off over the years. He knows Brendon's talked to him once or twice, that Jon sent him that email that Brendon never replied to. He wonders what Jon thinks about coming into Ryan's garden and finding Spencer, bruised and beat up and glaring at him.

"Sit," Z says, rolling her eyes and motioning Jon towards a chair. "Or should Tenn and I leave, so you guys can yell at each other?"

"I'm not yelling," Spencer says. He tips his head back into the sunlight, eyes closed. It's weird to see Jon. He'd been so angry at him, for so long, and now that he's here Spencer finds that he's having trouble holding on to that anger. Jon looks tense, like he's afraid Spencer's going to jump across the table and strangle him. Jon hates conflict.

"I should probably go," Jon says. "Is, uh. Ryan here? I just needed to talk to him about something."

"Jon," Spencer says tiredly. "It's fine. I'm not--look, I'm still pissed at you, but it's fine. Have some tea." He waves a hand at the tea set. Everything seems so exhausting, all of a sudden. Spencer's sore and tired and sick of yelling at people. It's not making him feel any better.

"You sure?" Jon says. He hovers, uncertain.

"Jon Jacob Walker," Spencer says. "Sit the fuck down and have some tea." He gives Jon a sardonic smile. Jon waits a beat, and then returns it. Spencer can feel his shoulders relax. He hadn't even realized he was tensing.

"Okay, Spencer Smith," Jon says, with a nod. "Tea it is."

-

Ryan comes out, eventually, after Jon's called his cell twice. He looks comically surprised to see Jon and Spencer sitting at the same table, attempting to talk about anything but their respective bands.

"Um," Ryan says, slowly edging his way over to the table. "Hey?"

"I'm trying out this new thing," Spencer says, without preamble. "Of not being a dick to people. Jon's agreed to join me in my pursuit."

"Hey," Jon says, slightly wounded.

"Okay," Ryan says, carefully. "So I can sit down, and you aren't going to tear at the fabric of my fragile ego?" He raises an eyebrow at Spencer.

"Your ego was never fragile," Spencer says. "But no. I'll try not to. We'll see how it goes."

"We need to make more tea," Tennessee says, standing up. She brings the teapot inside, and Z follows her, snickering to herself. As subtle exits go, it fails spectacularly.

"I like them," Spencer says, surprising even himself when the words drift out. "They're weird."

"They're pretty great," Jon agrees. "You should meet the whole band."

"Mmm," Spencer says. He thinks about it for a second. "I do kind of want to see Tennessee on drums," he admits. He'd noticed the calluses almost immediately, the same as his own.

"She's awesome," Ryan says, nodding for emphasis. "They all are. They've got this retro-girl-group thing going. I think it really works for their sound."

"I hadn't noticed," Spencer lies. It's cute that Ryan thinks he needs to point something like that out, when Tennessee's wearing a beehive to drink tea in Ryan's backyard.

"This is way less awkward then I thought it would be," Jon says, and then immediately looks down at the table.

"Hey," Spencer says. "Like I said. I'm trying out this whole adult thing of talking about my feelings and shit."

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Like, right now, I still kind of want to punch you for what you said earlier, but I can totally sit here and deal with it." He pauses. "It's fucking weird."

"I never really wanted to be an adult," Jon says.

"Me either," Spencer says. "I hate it."

"Oh yeah," Ryan says. He thinks about it for a second, and then pulls a small joint out from behind his ear. "Think we'll still be adults if we light this up?"

"Hell no," Jon says. He grins at Ryan, a lazy smile. "Burn it up, man."

"Spencer?" Ryan says. He raises an eyebrow, as if to say, _you want in?_

"Painkillers," Spencer says, regretfully. "But I'll have a drag. You know, if you're offering."

"I'm offering," Ryan says. He flicks his lighter at the end of the twist of paper.

"I thought you weren't smoking because of your voice," Spencer says, as Ryan's carefully pulling the cherry.

"Special occasion," Ryan says. He nods to himself as the joint begins to burn on it's own. "To being really shitty adults." He raises it over his head in some sort of obscure victory movement, and then passes it to Jon.

"Agreed," Spencer says.

-

Spencer takes a deep breath. "So how's the album going?" he asks. Across the table, Jon's eyebrows hit his hairline.

There's a long pause.

"It's good," Ryan says carefully. "It's--I mean, wait, are you serious? Or are you just making small talk?"

"I think I'm serious," Spencer says. He thinks about it for a minute. "No, yeah. I actually am kind of curious."

"Oh," Jon says. "Uh. It's. Going really well, actually. I don't know if anyone's going to buy it, but we like it." He looks over at Ryan for confirmation, and Ryan nods lazily. He'd finished most of the joint on his own.

"Good," Spencer says. It's not good. It's fucked-up and wrong and all sorts of other words Spencer could come up with, but he's going to be an adult about this if it kills him. At least until Brendon gets here.

"How--how is yours?" Jon asks him, hesitantly.

Spencer thinks about it for a moment.

"Shitty," he says. "I mean, the music isn't shitty. It's awesome. But it's going to be a while before we can narrow everything down. We've got like twenty-five songs, and only six of them have lyrics."

"Oh," Jon says. He seems to have no idea what to say to Spencer's unexpected honesty.

"Ryan kind of did a number on Brendon's self-esteem," Spencer says. He takes another sip of his tea. "And his writing abilities."

"What?"

"You fucked Brendon up," Spencer says simply, because it's a fact. Brendon's going to be here in a few minutes, and if there's one thing Spencer would like to get out of this whole mess, it's an apology from Ryan to Brendon. Spencer has a sneaking suspicion that it might make his life a little easier in the studio. Brendon deserves it.

"When?" Ryan says. He's frowning. "What? He never said anything to me. What do you mean, I fucked him up?"

"You treated his writing like crap," Spencer says. " 'little ditties,' Ryan? You never took him seriously, and now he thinks he's a terrible songwriter."

"I didn't," Ryan argues. "I totally didn't! It's not. It was my _job_ to write the lyrics!"

"Look," Spencer says, feeling the burn of frustration start to simmer again, but Jon cuts him off. "We kind of did," he says, a little sadly. "Ryan--Spencer's right."

"Oh," Ryan says. He looks at Jon like he's confused. "Really?"

"Yeah," Jon says. "You said some shit. I said some shit. I know what Spencer's talking about."

"Oh," Ryan says, again.

Spencer's phone rings.

"Come outside," Brendon says. "I think I'm here. It looks like an ugly weirdo desert castle, right?"

"Come around the back," Spencer says. "We're in the garden."

"We?" Brendon says. "Who's we?"

"Brendon," Spencer says. "Just come, okay?" He waits until Brendon sighs in defeat. "Okay," Brendon says. "But I'm not responsible for the consequences of my actions."

"That's okay," Spencer says. He hangs up when he hears the dial tone.

"Brendon's here?" Jon says.

"Yup," Spencer says. He doesn't get up. He's got everything he came with on him, and moving hurts. He can shuffle back out to the car through the garden with Brendon.

"Shit, I locked the gate," Ryan says, standing up abruptly. "After Jon came. I'll be right back." He runs around the side of the house. Spencer watches him go. It makes him strangely nostalgic. Ryan still hasn't figured out the secret to moving his body through space without stumbling like a newborn giraffe.

"So this really wasn't how I was thinking today would go," Jon says thoughtfully. "Like, when I woke up this morning. I definitely wasn't planning on this."

"Me either," Spencer says. "Although when I woke up I kind of wanted to die, so there's that."

"I think--it's almost better this way," Jon continues. "Now I don't have time to get all paranoid and stressed out and shit."

Brendon's voice rings out across the garden. "Oh, hi Ryan," Brendon says. "Nice to see you and shit. You know what, though? I fucking hate you. You're a stupid dicksmack who sucks at life and relationships and everything involving other people. You're the most selfish person I've ever met."

"Or maybe not," Jon says. He swallows.

"I think he's venting," Spencer says. He actually knows Brendon's venting, but he wants to make Jon squirm a little. Brendon had always said the first thing he was going to do when he saw them in person was tell Ryan and Jon exactly what he thought of them. Apparently he was entirely serious.

(Spencer knows that Brendon's the type who shoves it all deep down inside, who can smile and play nice with the best of them. And once he blows up--once it's over--the anger's gone, dissipated into thin air. But while it's there, it's fresh and vivid and painful, and Brendon will make sure you feel every second of his fury.

Ryan and Jon probably should have remembered that about Brendon.)

Brendon strides across the garden. Ryan follows him, looking shell-shocked.

"Hi Jon," Brendon says. "You're a passive-aggressive asshole. You act like nothing's your fault, even when everything is. You're a coward who can't deal with the consequences of his actions."

Brendon lets his words hang for a while. Spencer holds his breath.

"And I'm Brendon," Brendon says finally. "I'm annoying and frustrating and I can't focus on shit for more than a few minutes. I act like I'm fine with everything when I'm not, and I let everything get all fucked up inside until I freak out on people. And that's Spencer," Brendon says, pointing at Spencer as though they all need the introduction. "He gets angry when he loves something and it doesn't go the way he wants. He's better at holding a grudge that anyone I've ever met."

Spencer releases the breath he was holding.

"Sorry," Brendon says, looking a little sheepish. "I needed to get that out there or I'd hit one of you guys. I've, uh. Needed to do that for a while."

"It's okay," Ryan says, from behind him. He looks sad. "You were right. About all of us."

"Yeah," Brendon says. "I know."

Jon nods in agreement. "So here's the thing," he says. "While we're actually talking about this. Ryan and I kind of owe you an apology for some of the shit we said, but I'm kind pissed at you right now for saying that and I don't think it would come out right." Jon's jaw is tight with the strain of being civil. "So consider this an advance on a future apology. You're not a shitty song-writer."

"Uh." Brendon says. "Thanks, dude."

"You're welcome," Jon says. He stands up. "I'm gonna go," he says, looking around at all of them. "I won't lie and say it's been fun, but--" he pauses, and looks at Spencer and Ryan. "Actually, okay, this afternoon was kind of fun," Jon says. "Anyway. I'm going now." He walks across the garden and disappears around the side of the house.

"So," Brendon says. He turns to Spencer. He looks kind of embarrassed. "Spence. You ready to go?"

"Brendon," Ryan says. "Wait." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"For real?" Brendon says. "You're not just saying that because I yelled at you?"

"No," Ryan says. "For real. You're really good. You're going to make an awesome album." He holds out his hand awkwardly. Brendon stares at him for a long moment, and then he takes it.

"Okay," Brendon says. "Apology accepted."

"Well," Spencer says, into the ensuing silence. "That was exciting."

-

Spencer devours his In-and-Out by the time they're back on the highway. It's a little cold, but it's still good.

"Jesus," Brendon says, when Spencer's slurping the last drops of soda out of his takeaway cup through the straw. "Did Ryan not feed you or something?"

"Conflict makes me hungry," Spencer says. "But no. Z and Tennessee brought me food."

"Who?" Brendon says.

"Ryan's friends," Spencer says. "They're nice. I liked them."

"How hard did you hit your head?" Brendon says. He leans over to poke at Spencer's forehead, and Spencer bats his hand away. "Look," Spencer says. "They made an effort to be nice, so I decided to man up and be nice back. It really wasn't all that hard."

"Wow," Brendon says. "So wait. That's it? You and Ryan are best-friends-for-life again? All is forgiven?"

"Of course not," Spencer says. "But I don't know. We'll see how it goes."

"Wow," Brendon says again. He looks pleased and confused in equal measure. "Okay."

-

They get home. Spencer carefully shuffles up the steps and then falls asleep in his own bed, wondering if Ryan's going to call him tonight. It could go either way, really. Spencer doesn't know.

He wakes up, disoriented, to the sound of his phone ringing. Spencer's not awake enough to grab it in time. He fumbles out a hand and manages to knock it off the bed. The ringer cuts out, and Spencer blinks in the sudden silence. It's dark in his room, and his throat is parched.

Spencer gets up, takes his pills, and shuffles downstairs. He makes himself some coffee and sticks a bagel in the toaster oven, because it's fast and easy food. The house is empty around him. There's a note on the kitchen island in Brendon's handwriting, saying that he's taken the dogs to Shane and Regan's and he'll be back later.

Spencer takes his food into the living room when it's done, stretching out gingerly on the couch. He takes his phone out of his pocket and checks the screen. There's a missed call from Ryan's number. Spencer presses the "dial" button.

"Hey," Spencer says, when Ryan picks up. "Uh. What's up?"

"You bled on my sheets," Ryan says, but he doesn't sound mad. More like he's making a definitive statement.

"Sorry," Spencer says. "I'll buy you new ones?"

"They're from France," Ryan says. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Not really," Spencer admits. God knows how much Ryan's sheets cost. "But I'll do it if I have to."

"I'm kidding, Spence," Ryan says. "I mean. Not about the sheets. You did actually bleed on them. But I don't really care."

"I thought so," Spencer says, even though he hadn't been quite sure. Ryan's hard to read sometimes. Especially considering the events of today, and the fact that they're doing this over the phone.

"Is that why you called?" Spencer says. "To tell me about the sheets?"

"Mostly," Ryan says. He launches into a story about how he'd gone out to see some friends after Spencer had left, only to come back and find his living room turned into an epic blanket-fort with two pairs of legs sticking out. Spencer starts laughing.

"Very naked legs. It was amazing," Ryan says drily. "But I wasn't allowed to go in. No boys allowed."

"They just didn't want you to offer them makeup tips," Spencer says.

"Oh," Ryan says, after a moment, like he's thinking about it. "No, I'm pretty sure they were having sex. But that could have been it too."

"Really?" Spencer says. "But I thought you and Z--" He snaps his mouth shut. It's none of his business who Ryan is or isn't fucking. But that had seemed to be the most logical conclusion for Z's constant presence, in a way that made Spencer feel sort of vaguely lonely and depressed. It's been a while since Haley.

"Oh, I tried," Ryan says. "She was pretty firm on the fact that I had the wrong equipment. But I mean. That was before her and Tennessee got together."

"Ah," Spencer says, a noise of sudden and abrupt understanding. "That--makes a lot of sense, actually."

"It really does," Ryan says distantly. "Anyway. I need to go deconstruct my living room."

"Okay," Spencer says. "Um. You should--call me sometime. I mean, you do already. But. I promise not to be a jerk when you do."

"Sure," Ryan says. Spencer can tell he's smiling through the phone line. "Right on, Spence."

-

It takes a while for Spencer to get back up to speed. Spencer's one of those people who never gets sick, who has an immune system that could probably withstand a combined Ebola outbreak and zombie invasion, or so Brendon tells him. Spencer knows for a fact he's just jealous. Brendon gets sick at the drop of a tissue.

Unfortunately, Spencer can't rush his body into recovering faster. It's frustrating as hell. Spencer lies on the couch and watches endless episodes of Arrested Development and Top Gear and Buffy and whatever else they have lying around. He even watches an entire season of Charmed, because Rose McGowan is hot and Spencer is only human. He talks to Ryan at least once a day, which should feel completely bizarre, but it doesn't. It helps that everyone is calling him and trying to provide a distraction. Ryan's just another in the long list of people who call to tell him funny stories and check up on him and make sure he's not covered in bed sores.

It's kind of overwhelming at some points, but Spencer really isn't complaining. It's nice to know his friends and family would be upset if he died.

-

"It's over," Ryan says. He's staring out the window with a resolute expression. "We broke up. I just--fuck, Spence. I couldn't do it anymore."

"Shit," Spencer says sympathetically. He moves in to hug Ryan, but Ryan's shoulders start to stiffen and Spencer pulls back. "Sorry," Spencer says uselessly. "I didn't mean--"

"It's okay," Ryan says. "I just--not right now, okay?"

"Okay." Spencer says. "Was it, like. Amiable?" It's not the word he's looking for, but it will do well enough. Spencer's trying to figure out if they need to start gearing up for a media fire-storm. Keltie's a good person and a sweet girl, but she definitely has a flair for the dramatic.

"No," Ryan mumbles. He's got his head buried in his arm, knees pulled up to his chest. "It was as not-amiable as a break-up can be. She wants to fucking kill me."

Spencer swallows. "What happened?" He doesn't really want to know, but he feels like he needs to. If Ryan wants to talk, Spencer is definitely going to listen.

"She thinks I'm in love with someone else," Ryan says. "She's convinced I've been cheating on her. She really, honestly wants to kill me."

Spencer thinks about that for a second. "Have you?" he asks, hesitantly. He doesn't know about anyone else, but that doesn't mean much. He and Ryan haven't been that close lately, despite living on a bus together. They don't talk that much anymore.

Ryan shakes his head. "No," Ryan says miserably. "I just--fuck. I was trying to be _honest_. Isn't that what you do when you love someone?" He looks up at Spencer, and he looks so fucking sad that Spencer feels his heart break a little. He's devastated, cracked wide open for Spencer to see.

"Sometimes," Spencer says. "I don't know, Ryan." He holds his arms out, and this time Ryan comes.

"I'm so fucking stupid," Ryan says, into Spencer's shoulder. "How do you put up with me, I'm so stupid."

"You're not," Spencer says uselessly. He hugs tighter, because it says everything that he's not so great at putting into words. "I promise, Ryan. You're not stupid for being honest."

-

The CD comes via the US postal service in an unmarked envelope with Ryan's name as the return address. Spencer laughs when he sees it, because only Ryan Ross would send demos of his new band through the mail without worrying about anyone stealing them or sending them to the press. The envelope alone, addressed to Spencer in Ryan's handwriting, would be enough to cause rampant Internet speculation.

The burned CD inside just says "Spencer" on it in sharpie, as though Ryan had been labelling them as he made them for people. There's a post-it note stuck to the case that says, "Hope you like it. Tell me what you think. 1 - Dangerous Blues 2 - Young Veins (Die Tonight) 3 - The Other Girl." Ryan's played him snippets over the phone, a keyboard riff there, a bass-line here, but Spencer hasn't heard the final product yet. He refuses to admit to himself that he's kind of excited to hear it. He walks slowly and calmly over to the CD player.

The first track that pours forth from his speakers is a modified waltz, and Spencer starts grinning. It's corny, sure, but it's so perfectly Ryan-and-Jon that he can't help smiling ruefully. _Even the tide gets high at night,_ Ryan sings, his voice stronger and surer than Spencer's ever heard it. _Even the truth is wrong sometimes._ Spencer bites his lip. He's pretty sure he knows where that lyric came from. The memory of Ryan sitting on the bus and staring out the window is still vivid, shoulders hunched as he told Spencer about him and Keltie.

 _All I want to do is dig a hole with you_  
We are not strangers to the undertow  
Wind won't decide which way to blow  
But we will never leave  
You're all that's left for me

Spencer blinks, and then he shrugs. Or maybe that song's not about Keltie, because that part definitely doesn't sound like it. Whatever. He doesn't pretend to know what Ryan's gotten up to in the last six months. _Now I know love is a dangerous blues_ , Ryan sings from the stereo, lighthearted but somehow grave. It's a good song, even if the arrangement is obviously unfinished.

Track two starts with a pounding drum beat, the kind that makes Spencer's heart ache a little. He tells himself firmly that it's no big deal, but something in him flares up at the thought that now, _now_ Ryan and Jon decide they want drums instead of a fucking tambourine. It figures.

Spencer listens to the lyrics. _Is young a word for dumb?_ Ryan sings, blithely sarcastic and cheerful. The second verse takes a darker turn. Spencer knows Ryan's lyrics aren't always autobiographical, but he can't shake the feeling that Ryan's singing directly to him. It's unsettling.

 _But if I were to die tonight_  
Would you cry or deny my place in your life  
I'm aware that you're scared of my heart  
But it's here

Spencer hits fast-forward before the verse ends. There's a lump in his throat that he's occupied with pushing down. It's dumb, because it's just a song, but the idea of how close he'd come to doing just that is a striking indictment of his guilt. He's starting to wonder if Ryan sent him these particular tracks on purpose.

The third track starts slowly - it sounds like they're just in the studio, screwing around on their instruments. The music swells and grows, until there's a pulsing guitar riff pushing the song forward. Ryan starts singing, and Spencer can feel his mouth drop open slightly, because it _can't be_ , but there's no denying Ryan's lyrics, ringing out clear as a bell.

 _Don't wait around for love_  
You're not what he's thinking of  
When he's with the other girl

Don't bother waiting up cause he,  
He's not where he's supposed to be  
When he's with the other girl  
When he's with the other girl

You, you were right  
I was wrong  
Like I always am  
And you always are

Spencer stares blankly at the CD player. His stomach twists in fear and disbelief and something else, something he's not quite ready to name. It's something overwhelmingly large, the sort of thing Spencer can't really comprehend because it's too massive. Sort of like looking up at the Grand Canyon. It was too much for the eye to process, and so Spencer only remembers it in bits and pieces, mental snapshots that cut up the whole into manageable parts.

Behind him, he hears Brendon suck in a breath. Spencer turns to see Brendon standing in the doorway, a plastic bag clutched in one hand.

"Is that--" Brendon says, in amazement. "Is that. That's from the new album?"

"Yeah," Spencer says shakily. Of course Brendon knows Ryan's old nickname for Haley. _The other girl_ , Ryan had called her fondly. _The hussy who stole my best friend_. She'd always laughed when he said it, given him a friendly dude-bro punch on the shoulder. That had been one of the things Spencer had loved most about her; she'd fit in so well with all of them, able to hold her own with his three weirdo bandmates.

"Holy shit," Brendon says softly. He looks just as shocked as Spencer feels. "Spence. That's. That's a fucking love song."

"No, it isn't," Spencer says, swallowing hard. "It's a goodbye song. I--fuck, I. I need to call Ryan." Spencer waves his hands uselessly for a bit. He feels weightless, disoriented.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Brendon says. He crosses the room to Spencer's side. "Spence--look, just take a minute to breathe. You're really upset."

"I'm not _upset_ \--" Spencer argues. "I'm just. I'm. Fuck," Spencer says. "I don't even know what I am." He sits down heavily on the couch. Brendon nods at him in solidarity. He turns to look at the entertainment tower.

"Can we play it again?" Brendon says hesitantly. "I want to hear their new stuff. Is that okay?"

"Yeah," Spencer says numbly. "Start it over from the beginning." Brendon sits down next to him on the couch, one arm slung loosely across Spencer's shoulders. He presses play on the CD remote. They sit and listen as Ryan's voice washes over them, the sound of Jon's guitar. The lyrics Spencer had been trying so hard to deny the truth of, until Brendon showed up and pointed out the obvious. They listen in silence, until the final note fades away.

"Are you going to punch me if I point out that all those songs are about you?" Brendon says quietly.

"No," Spencer says. "I'm. I sort of realized that halfway in."

"Yeah," Brendon says. He squeezes Spencer's shoulders. "So. What are you going to do?"

"I have no idea," Spencer says. The house is silent around them, except for the clacking of Bogart's nails on the kitchen tile.

-

 _You're not stupid for being honest,_ Spencer thinks to himself, his own words echoing back at him through the years. He's lying in bed, unable to sleep.

Apparently Ryan had taken him at his word.

-

Two days later, Brendon gets hit with a sudden burst of inspiration. He insists that they can't go back into the studio until Spencer's better, but Spencer can only put up with a day of Brendon faking patience and drumming his fingers on tabletops. He's feeling a lot better and anyway, it's not like he hurt his arms.

"You sure?" Brendon says carefully, but he's already smiling. "Like. If you're not sure--"

"Oh my god, get in the fucking car," Spencer says.

"Okay," Brendon says, grabbing his keys. "Okay, awesome. I have this great idea, right, we're going to lay down some tracks with like, found objects for the percussion--" He keeps talking all the way out the door and into the car, and all Spencer can do is smile and nod.

-

Ryan calls him on the fourth day in, during lunch. Spencer puts down his sandwich and picks up his phone, pressing the button with one hand while he's guiding his soda straw to his mouth.

"Hey," he mumbles. He tries to sound totally calm and unconcerned, like Ryan hadn't sent him a demo that was chock-full of terrifying and wondrous revelations.

"Sup," Ryan says casually. "You get the tracks?"

"Yeah," Spencer says. His heart is racing. "I--I liked them."

"Good," Ryan says. "That's really good. I'm glad. Hey, what are you doing Friday?"

"Um," Spencer says. "Hang on a minute." He puts the phone down and mouths _Friday?_ across the room to Brendon. Brendon thinks for a moment and then shakes his head. _Sarah_ , he mouths back. _No studio. Getting laid._ He gives Spencer a cheesy thumbs up.

"Apparently I'm free," Spencer says, into the phone. "Brendon will be off enjoying the perks of a committed relationship. Why?"

"I need to head up to Santa Monica for something," Ryan says. "You want to hang out?"

Spencer swallows nervously. "Sure," he says, before he can change his mind. "What time?"

"Whenever," Ryan says. "I don't know. I'll call you. Just leave your phone on."

"You know," Spencer says. "Some people have these things called schedules."

"I've heard of them," Ryan says. "They sound fascinating. Ah--shit. I need to go. I'm getting gas and they actually want me to like. Pay for it."

"They usually do," Spencer says. "Okay. Later." He hangs up and then stares blankly at his phone.

"What's up?" Brendon says, sitting down next to Spencer. He turns the chair around so he can straddle it backwards, and gives Spencer his patented tell-me-your-problems look.

"Ryan wants to hang out on Friday," Spencer says.

"Ooooooh," Brendon says. He quirks an eyebrow. "You guys gonna do it?"

"No," Spencer says, horrified. "I--what. That's. NO."

"You're blushing," Brendon says. He's grinning widely, ear to ear.

"Shut up," Spencer mumbles. "God. I hate you so much."

"Love you too, Spence," Brendon says.

-

Spencer isn't taking any chances. He wakes up early on Friday--showers, shaves his jawline, eats breakfast--and then he starts the long and painful process of cleaning his apartment. The place really is kind of filthy, and anyway, Brendon's up relatively early to drive to the airport. It's not like Spencer's waking him up via vacuum cleaner.

"So," Brendon says, sipping his coffee while Spencer cleans out the fridge. He's trying for casual and missing it by a mile. "Tonight. What are your plans?"

"Not being here," Spencer says. His voice sounds weird in the cold, echoing chamber of the vegetable crisper. "So you can get laid."

"Excellent," Brendon says. "That is an awesome plan." He yawns into his coffee, and rubs at his eyes underneath his glasses.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Spencer says, pulling his head back out at the sound of Brendon's yawn. "It's ten am. You went to bed last night before I did. You got at least ten hours of sleep."

"I'm a growing boy," Brendon says.

"Yeah, growing sideways," Spencer says. He tosses an empty soda can at the recycling. "How the hell did that get in the fridge?"

"Dunno," Brendon says. "Also, you know what you just said could be construed as a compliment to my dick, right?"

"I was calling you fat," Spencer says. "I mean, you're not. But I was calling you that. Wait, why are we even discussing this?"

"You started it," Brendon says. "When's Ryan coming?"

"I have no idea," Spencer says. "Ryan Ross does not understand our plebeian concepts of time." He glares at a half-eaten apple, and then tosses it into the nearest garbage bin..

"You're kinda cranky," Brendon says.

"Have you _seen_ our refrigerator recently?" Spencer says. "Also I'm stressed the fuck out, thanks for asking."

"That _was_ me asking," Brendon sighs. He rolls his eyes at the ceiling. "Fine. I'll bite. Spencer Smith, dude-bro, my best friend. Why are you stressed out?"

"Because Ryan is coming over, and apparently he's in love with me, or he used to be, or something, and I never fucking knew it, and now shit's all weird, and I have no idea how to deal with this situation and I'm like. Not okay with that," Spencer says.

"Yeah, duh," Brendon says. "I meant, why are you stressing? Just tell him, dude."

Spencer pauses in his epic quest to rid the refrigerator of all non-human forms of life. "Tell him what?" Spencer says.

"That you're in love with him, dicksmack," Brendon says. "I swear, it's fucking obvious from the _moon_."

"Crap," Spencer says. He sits down heavily on the floor and presses his back of his hands to his eye sockets, because the fronts are probably full of creepy bacteria. "I am so not ready for this."

"Gotta do it sometime," Brendon says. "Today's a nice day."

"No, you don't get it," Spencer says wearily. "Brendon. What if it's over? What if I say _hey, I listened to the song, it's obviously about me, I'm sorry I was so dense, I think I might have loved you forever or something?_ and then Ryan's like _yeah, whatever, I mean, I wrote it about you but I'm over it now._ Like. What the fuck do I _do_?"

"Become a hermit," Brendon says. "No--seriously, Spencer. Just. You can't let that stop you. Man up and tell him, and then maybe you guys can figure out what the rest of the universe has known for years." Brendon sets his coffee down on the table and walks past Spencer, giving him a companionable head-scratch on his way upstairs. "I gotta get dressed," Brendon says. "My lady's on her way. I need to head out soon. Don't overthink this."

"I can't believe I'm taking relationship advice from you," Spencer says, but it comes out fond. "When did I get this messed up?"

"When you met Ryan," Brendon calls over his shoulder. "So basically, forever."

-

Ryan calls him at noon. "Hey," Ryan says easily. "I'm down by the beach. I found this great little Italian place, you should come check it out with me."

Spencer blinks at the phone. "Ryan," Spencer says. "I don't have a _car_."

"Oh right," Ryan says thoughtfully. "I forgot about that. Whoops."

"It's okay, " Spencer says, nodding at the phone even though Ryan can't see him. "Sometimes I forget about it too." He still hasn't taken his car key off his keychain, for some unknown reason. Brendon had driven him down to LA on Wednesday to pick up his stuff out of the car, and they'd stared at the crumpled front end in forlorn silence. There was really no point in fixing it.

"You want to go car shopping?" Ryan says, perking up. "Come on. You need a new car. We can go test-drive all the ones you can't afford. Car shopping is awesome."

"I--" Spencer fumbles. He doesn't know what to do. Ryan is acting like nothing, absolutely nothing has changed between them, when everything has. Spencer closes his eyes and behind his eyelids he suddenly sees an afternoon six years ago, before they were famous, before everything. He can see Ryan lying on the bed next to him, giddy and breathless and so, so young. Spencer remembers the feeling of falling, the unsettling sense that something had irrevocably changed between them after that day. Spencer wonders if he's finally figured it out, after almost six years of willful blindness. He wonders if he's too late.

"Yeah," Spencer says. Ryan is waiting patiently on the other end, like he hadn't noticed that Spencer had suddenly stopped speaking so he could have a weird self-absorbed moment of inner clarity. "Let's go car shopping, Ryan. But you need to pick me up. For obvious reasons," Spencer says.

"Okay," Ryan says. "Oh--hey. Tacos. Taco stand. You want tacos? I can bring some. If we're not getting Italian."

"Yeah," Spencer says, smiling into the phone a little. He doesn't know if it's a sad or a happy smile. Maybe a little bit of both. "Tacos are awesome. You know how I like mine."

"I do," Ryan agrees. "Alright. Send me your address and I'll have Prudence do her thing."

"Prudence?"

"My GPS," Ryan says. "She's English. Z named her Prudence."

"Of course she did," Spencer says. "Okay. I'll see you and Prudence in a bit."

"Yup," Ryan says, and hangs up.

-

Ryan shows up forty-five minutes later, weighed down with tacos and drinks. He's wearing a pair of seersucker trousers and black Ray-bans and an untucked white dress shirt, rolled to the elbows. Somehow he manages to pull it off. No one is more surprised than Spencer.

"Hi," Spencer says awkwardly. He holds out a hand for the food. "Come in?"

"Okay," Ryan agrees. He follows Spencer to the kitchen, carrying his drink tray and unsubtly checking out Brendon and Spencer's place.

"I like it," Ryan announces, after he sets down the drinks. He nods in satisfaction. "It's good. It's all airy and beachy and stuff."

"Thanks for your approval," Spencer says drily. "We like it too."

"You always needed my approval," Ryan says calmly, like he's stating a fact. "I'm just giving it to you preemptively."

"Uh-huh," Spencer says. It's amazing how Ryan can sound like such a dick, and yet be completely and utterly endearing at the same time. Spencer gets what he's saying, which is some weird thing about how Spencer _shouldn't_ need Ryan's approval, or he's giving him his blessing to live his life, or...something. Maybe he's so not clear on the details, but he gets the gist.

"Thanks," Spencer says. Ryan smiles at him, carefully, a little shy. Then he attacks his taco. Spencer follows suit.

-

"You ready?" Ryan says, after they've eaten their body weight in corn salsa and avocado. "I'm going to call us a cab."

"The fuck?" Spencer says. He raises an eyebrow at Ryan. "You have a car, dude. You drove it here."

"No, I have a plan," Ryan says. "We'll take a cab, and have it drop us off at that big strip of car dealerships, you know? Then you have to drive something home. This way you won't be all concerned about which one has better spark plugs or whatever. Just buy what you like."

"I can't belive you're making my car shopping into one of your weird _carpe diem_ moments." Spencer says. "I'm about to drop like ten grand. Shouldn't I, I don't know, do a little research?"

"Nope," Ryan says blithely. Spencer shakes his head and lets him call.

-

It's a nice day out. The cab drops them off at a Lexus dealership, which Ryan and Spencer immediately run away from. "No Lexus," Spencer whispers, as they're hurrying across the parking lot, away from the eager salespeople. "No Lexus," Ryan agrees.

Spencer can see the long line of signs stretching down the avenue - Honda, Suburu, Kia, Audi. "I have no idea what I want," Spencer says. Ryan shrugs. "So we'll walk until you see something you like," Ryan says. "It's a nice day. No hurry."

They talk about nothing and everything, rambling stories to pass the time. Spencer feels a strange, light sensation in his chest whenever he looks at Ryan. He's nervous as hell and he doesn't know what's going on between them but just having Ryan here--taking up space next to Spencer and going on about how no one knows how to properly record a Hammond organ anymore--feels like something has slotted back into place. Ryan has a tiny bit of a tan, on his forearms and the bridge of his nose. His hair is long and curly. It lifts in the slight breeze, the air-drafts from the cars passing by.

They wander through four or five dealerships, stopping when Spencer sees something he likes. The salespeople look surprised to see them wandering in off the street, but they're still overly polite and helpful, up-selling for all they're worth. Watching Ryan politely crush their hope of a big sale is a hysterical experience.

("What are you looking for?" the guy in the had suit said, his hand gestures expansive, as though his lot contained every car in the world, and he alone had the key.

"Oh, I don't know," Ryan had said carelessly. "We'll know it when we see it." He set off across the parking lot, sunglasses on, hands stuffed in his back pockets. Spencer grinned as he walked away, and couldn't even manage to apologize for Ryan's careless snub.)

There's a little blue Suburu Impreza sitting on the lot that Spencer falls in love with immediately. It's big enough to hold all his equipment, and it comes in a Sport version.

"This one," Spencer says, walking over to her and running his hand along the paint. She's hot to the touch, warm from sitting out in the California sun. Ryan nods and goes to get the salesperson, a tall woman with dark hair in a business suit. She smiles at them and hands over the keys, after checking Spencer's driver's license and holding his credit card as insurance. Spencer unlocks the car, and sits down. He runs his hands along the steering wheel.

"I think she's yours," Ryan stage-whispers. "I like her."

"I think so too," Spencer says. He turns the car on, and pulls out of the lot, making a right onto the avenue. She's got a surprising amount of power for what is essentially a modified station wagon. Ryan rolls down the windows, stretching out in the front seat. He kicks his feet up on the dashboard.

"Hey, hey," Spencer says, and swats at his knee. "Don't do that."

"You're going to buy her," Ryan says. "Don't lie. I can stick my feet up if I want to." Spencer smiles to himself, and pushes her through the motions. They turn back eventually, once he's satisfied that she's the one.

-

Ryan sits next to him while Spencer signs sheaf after sheaf of papers and hands over every piece of documentation that he owns. He gets an installment plan that he doesn't really need, but it's nice to be on the safe side. When they finally head back out to the lot, keys in hand, the sun is starting to set.

"So," Ryan says. "Dinner?"

"I--yeah," Spencer says. "Sure."

"Where?" Ryan says. "This is your neck of the woods. You pick something."

"Hmm," Spencer says. The first thing that comes to mind is a little Indian place. It's got a great seating area in the back, with climbing vines and christmas lights that twinkle through the leaves. He's opening his mouth to suggest it, because he knows Ryan will love it, when he pauses, a twist of nerves settling deep in his stomach.

The last person he'd taken there was Haley.

"Fuck it," Spencer says, and pulls off onto a side street. He needs to do this now, before he takes inadvertently takes Ryan to the best date restaurant he knows and gets his heart broken all over again.

"Huh?" Ryan says, looking around them curiously. "Is there someplace in here?"

"No," Spencer says. He grips the steering wheel. "I just--we need to talk."

"Right," Ryan says. He bites his lip, and looks out the window. "About what?"

"Ryan," Spencer says, so quiet and so scared. "You sent me. All those songs--Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Ryan sighs, and tips his head back against the seat. He lets out of a whoosh of air, like he's deflating himself.

"No," Ryan admits. "I thought--I don't know. You'd hear them eventually anyway. I wanted it to be from me." He sounds sad. "I was trying to--remember, what you said, that one time? After Keltie and I broke up?"

"It's the only thing I can think about," Spencer says, entirely honestly.

"You were right," Ryan says. "I figured that I just--wanted to stop hiding. And then the band broke up and you hated me and--I don't know. I just didn't care anymore, if you knew."

"I didn't--" Spencer sighs. God, this is hard. "Ryan. Did it ever occur to you that I was so pissed off because I really cared about you?"

"Hey, Spence, I know," Ryan says, turning to him with a concerned expression. "I know, okay? We're friends now. It's okay. You don't have to--I didn't want to make shit weird between us. You don't need to comfort me. I'm over it."

"No," Spencer says, frustrated. "I meant that I have probably been in love with you this whole time, and I didn't know and now--like you said. It's over." There's a sinking feeling in his stomach. Suddenly, the sunset doesn't seem quite so beautiful. Nothing about this afternoon seems beautiful. Spencer is going to suck this up and go have dinner with Ryan, and then he's going to go home and sit in his apartment and cry like a fucking baby because he knew, he _knew_ this would happen. Or no, he's going to go get a hotel room because he can't even be at his apartment, because Brendon and Sarah will be there having sex. Fuck.

Ryan blinks at him. His eyes are very wide. Spencer isn't sure he's breathing.

"Spence," Ryan says, unsteadily, and Spencer can't help himself. He's got one fucking chance to find out, and even if it's never going to happen--whatever. Spencer doesn't care anymore. He leans over the center console and kisses Ryan, leaving nothing out. It's not an easy kiss. Spencer pushes, one hand coming up to tangle in Ryan's messy hair. He licks at the seam of Ryan's lips and he can feel the exact moment when Ryan gives in, when he opens his mouth on a sigh and kisses back.

Ryan's a really good kisser.

Spencer doesn't give in, and neither does Ryan. They go back and forth, trading control between them like so many unsaid syllables. Ryan bites at his lower lip, at the curve of Spencer's jaw, the corner of his mouth. Spencer lets out a tiny noise, and Ryan swallows it up, one hand fisted in Spencer's hair.

"Okay," Ryan says, breaking away, breathless. Spencer tries to get his own breathing under control. "Fuck. Okay. I lied."

"What?" Spencer says.

"About honesty." Ryan says. "I was being honest, but only up until the point where I said I was over you."

"Good," Spencer says. "That's good." He tugs Ryan back in, meeting his lips on an exhalation. It's messy, complicated, perfect. They're making out in Spencer's new car, on a random side-street in Santa Monica, and Spencer doesn't care even a little bit.

They pull apart to breathe, eventually. Ryan gives Spencer a wide-eyed look, like he's amazed at how that turned out. "That was awesome," Ryan says, shell-shocked. "We need to. Spence. We should do that all the time."

"Yeah," Spencer says. He brushes his sweaty hair out of his eyes. "Yeah. You're completely right about that."

"Damn straight," Ryan says. He starts laughing, a weird chuckle that Spencer instantly understands. _It's his Spencer-laugh_ , Brendon had said. _He only laughs that way for you_. Spencer's heart is a glowing ball of light, of air ignited by the sun. He feels like he could run a thousand miles.

"We're going out," Spencer says, making his decision. "I'm taking you to this little Indian place. On a date."

"Okay," Ryan says. He's still grinning.

"And then we're driving to Vegas," Spencer says, pulling out into the road. "Because we can't go back to my place until the morning, because I promised Brendon. So we're going to drive out to the Strip, and you can stand up and yell through the sunroof about how art is your life and you're making music that will change the world and also that my new car is awesome."

"And then we're getting a hotel," Ryan laughs. "Right?"

"Right," Spencer says. "We are so getting a hotel. Absolutely." Ryan smiles at him, wide and happy. Then he leans out the window, sticking his whole body out as they get on the highway.

"We're taking a vacation, motherfuckers!" Ryan yells. He lets out a whoop, and Spencer can't control his happiness. It bubbles up from his chest and spills out his mouth, and he lets out a yell in return. The road stretches out in front of them, and Spencer hits the gas.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] If This Is Settling Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/602546) by [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery)




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